Close To Home
by JulieM
Summary: Will Mac offer her help in a situation that is slightly too close to home for comfort? She may just learn something about herself along the way… COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Will Mac offer her help in a situation that is slightly too close to home for comfort? She may just learn something about herself along the way…

AN: Just a short fic I came up with while recovering from jetlag and writer's block…

Spoilers: None, this story doesn't have a certain timeline setting.

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to Don P. Bellisario, Bellisarius Productions and the peeps at CBS.

Rating: PG-13 or T: Some emotive issues involved. Slightly H/M shippery.

If you think you'll be easily upset, turn back…

"Just this way, Colonel. The last doorway on the left."

I nod my head, remaining silent, even as I nearly trip up on the corner of carpet that has been pulled back from the floor through years of wear. I carefully step over the many objects that litter the path we walk along.

"Please excuse the mess," Paula Mason apologizes, softly, explaining, "We're full to capacity…"

I nod, smiling understandingly. There are too few places like this for the many who need them. No wonder they're full to capacity. Paula is a real-life angel.

As I follow the tiny, swift woman down the dark, narrow corridor, I can't help but think about the events of the past few days that led up to this moment…

Three days before…

"Ma'am, there's a call for you on line one," PO Coates informs me, as I return from court.

She still has the receiver to her ear, her hand pressed over the mouthpiece so whoever is calling doesn't hear what she is saying. Looks like I returned to the office at just the right time.

"Hello, Colonel MacKenzie speaking," I answer the call.

"Delighted to hear that it's Colonel, now…" the female voice speaks up on the other side of the line, "How long has it been since your promotion?"

"Um…quite some time now…May I ask who is speaking?" I'm caught slightly by surprise. Who on earth could this be?

"Sorry, I didn't mean to catch you off guard…this is Vivienne Westbrook, Colonel. I'm with the Big Brothers and Big Sisters organization…"

"Oh, of course! Vivienne, I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize your voice," I smile, 100 genuinely.

"It has been some time, hasn't it, Sarah?" Vivienne replies, "You were a Major the last time I set you up with a little sister…how is Chloe? I heard you managed to track down her Father."

"Chloe's doing just great!" I tell her, "She's living with her Grandparents while her Father is away at sea. I talk to her whenever I get the chance."

"That's great," Vivienne, replies.

After a pause of a few seconds, I can sense things getting a little tense over the line.

"How have you been, Vivienne?" I ask.

"Good," Vivienne hesitates as she says this and she doesn't need to explain to me why. I know how hard her job is, emotionally, with all of the terrible cases that come across her desk. The Big Brother and Sister Organization is there to help the vulnerable children coming from 'at risk' families.

"As good as can be expected…" Vivienne finally adds, managing to find the words, "Actually, that's why I was calling…"

Later that afternoon, Harm, Bud, Harriet, Coates and I are eating lunch in the canteen as I tell them about the phone call.

"It was a woman that I used to know when I volunteered my time at the Big Sister organization," I explain, filling in Coates, who knows little about Chloe, "I was 'Big Sister' to a young girl called Chloe. We'd hang out a few times a month, I helped her with schoolwork, spent time with her, advised her…"

"She was the one who was spending Christmas with you when Harm and I came by, that time, Ma'am…" Jen asks.

I'd forgotten about that. It seems so long ago, the person who was up on those theft charges so different from the promising young naval officer who I see before me now.

I nod, continuing, "Anyway, Chloe now lives with family we managed to track down. Since she left, I never found the time to return to do the 'Big Sister' work. But Vivienne called me up today, out of the blue to ask me for my help."

"It seems a bit unusual that she approached you," Harm comments, frowning slightly, "Since it's a voluntary organization, I mean."

Everyone else nods in agreement.

"Yeah," I nod, "I thought so too, but she explained to me, during our conversation and I can kind of understand now why she did."

"What is it Ma'am?" Bud asks, curiously.

"Well, she remembers how well Chloe and I got on and…well, she's got a very serious case on her hands right now and it…it bears some resemblance to my own…childhood situation."

Nobody says anything, their eyes wide, everybody virtually craning forwards towards me, as if hanging onto my every word.

I clear my throat and continue.

"Umm, she's recently come to know an eleven year-old-girl placed into foster care. This girl grew up in a broken home and recently things escalated…It turns out that the Mother of this girl has developed paranoid schizophrenia and medication and out-patient treatment have failed to control the most severe symptoms she is experiencing. The eleven-year-old girl had to be removed from the family home and placed into a care home because the mother was hospitalized."

"That's awful, Ma'am," Harriet whispered, in shock, "Is she okay?"

"Physically…well, that's another story. Psychologically, no, she's not. That's why Vivienne contacted me, because I told her a lot about my own childhood, during my time working for her. She wants me to try and help this girl, using my own personal experience."

"The family situation must have been pretty bad, Ma'am, if they had to commit the mother involuntarily to a treatment facility," Bud notes, "Were you were saying that the child was physically injured?"

I nod, regretfully.

"Yeah, it seems that the mother's symptoms were getting so bad that she was unwittingly lashing out of the child. It all came to a head one evening when her daughter brought a new friend home from school and the mother suffered a violent paranoid episode. The neighbors called the police and the mother had to be physically removed from the home. Her daughter had to have medical treatment for her injuries…"

"Poor kid," Harm shook his head, "It sounds tragic."

I nod.

"Are you going to help, Ma'am?" Coates asked, quietly.

"My conscience insists on it," I nod again, "But part of me is hesitant."

"It's understandable, Ma'am," Harriet covers my hand with her own, squeezing understandingly, "You've worked so hard to put your past experiences behind you. It's natural that you don't want to dredge them up again."

I smile at Harriet and thank her for her support, then look to the rest of my friends, who are nodding in agreement. The support is just as visible on their faces. I silently thank them, too, before going onto explain to them.

"There is that, but…I don't know. Every ounce of self-preservation in me is asking if I can really face this. There are the new elements to it as well. My Father was never physically abusive to me."

I drop my voice as I say this, because it is something extremely person to me. I can hardly believe that I'm actually opening up this much in front of my work colleagues. Sure they're my friends, but we are at work.

"I don't…I don't know if I have the strength to do this…"

Harm goes to take my hand, but I halt him, asking him to let me continue.

He understands and silently nods for me to continue.

"On the other hand, my conscience is telling me that I have to do something to help her. I could prevent a young woman going down the same self-destructive path as I did."

Everyone else just nods, compassionately, but when I look at Jen Coates, she looks positively tearful.

"Jen?" I ask her, softly. I hadn't thought how this might affect her. She was just around when I began talking to Harm and Bud.

"Ma'am," she whispers, "I'm just thinking about how my own childhood was…and well, I just wish I had somebody there for me while I was growing up."

She's smiling now and I feel like I'm near tears myself. She reaches to take my hand in support and I know what I must do.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

"When are you going to visit this girl in the care home?" Harm asks me as we work in my office on the case the General assigned us.

"Uh, Wednesday evening, next week," I tell him, "I've spoken to the woman who runs the home and she thought it might be better to give Carol-Anne some time to settle in. Paula, the foster parent says that she's still coming to terms with things. But she's in very poor emotional shape; that's why Vivienne is so desperate for my help."

"You need any support or…anything?" Harm asks, hesitantly.

He's so sweet, offering like that and I can tell that he doesn't really have any idea how much is appropriate to offer. This isn't really an easy thing for him to do, I can tell, but he's doing so anyway. And that makes me fall even more in love with him than I already am…if that is possible.

"Thanks Harm," I take his hand, gratefully, "But I think it's something I need to do on my own. But I'd be grateful for any advice you can offer me…and for some support afterwards…"

"Of course," he smiles as he pulls me in for a hug, "Any time you need it."

And with one last intimate smile, we return to the case-file at hand.

And so here I am today…

I take a deep breath as I catch sight of the last doorway along the hallway of this enormous house. It's silly how much I've been anticipating this, I know, but it isn't something I can control. However, all apprehension goes out of me as we reach the door and we go inside after Paula knocks to announce our presence to the room's occupant.

Inside, the radio is on and today's latest wonder is belting out a ballad. The singer's voice is husky and deep, but sounds young and is accompanied by solo guitar and violin. I quickly bat this observation away and concentrate on what is important; the eleven-year-old girl who is sitting curled up on the bed, her knees raised and her arms wrapped around herself. One would think that she hadn't noticed us come in, except for the tension that positively sings throughout her posture. This is defensive. I don't blame her; she's dealing with so much at such a young age. The room smells like lavender and I take note of the scented candle burning on the desktop. They were my favorite way of relaxing when things were getting to me, they still are.

"Carol-Anne?" Paula asks, softly, "There's someone here who'd like to meet you."

The child says nothing, doesn't even look up, her long, dark hair covering her face as her head hangs low.

"Hey there, Carol-Anne," I greet her, quietly, trying ineffectually to catch her gaze, "My name's Sarah…"

Not even a twitch. Her head remains firmly downcast.

"Can I just check on your bruises, honey?" Paula asks, gently reaching out and lifting the child's gaze by tilting her chin up.

I can see now why Carol-Anne has been keeping her gaze down all of the time we've been in the room. Her left eye is blackened and bruising flourishes it's way down the cheek, right to her jaw-line. There is a badly bruised cut on the right side of her forehead, which has required some pieces of butterfly surgical tape. Carol-Anne's gaze stays down for a few minutes while Paula silently assesses the injuries.

"Getting better every day, Sweetheart," Paula nods with satisfaction and a smile.

Carol-Anne's gaze jumps up to connect with Paula's momentarily then shoots to the side, as she realizes her error.

"Sarah's from 'The Big Sisters' organization, Carol-Anne. She's come to spend some time with you, if you'd like that. You don't have to go out or anything. You guys could just stay up here in your room and talk, if you want…" Paula tells her.

No answer.

"My friends call me Mac," and speak gently, as I move closer, "You can call me that, too. It's a short version of my surname; MacKenzie. It's sort of a nickname. Or you could just call me Sarah…I don't mind what you chose. I just thought we could spend some time today getting to know each other…"

Carol-Anne still hasn't looked directly at me and I am now sitting on the edge of the bed. Paula did move away to allow us some privacy but notices Carol-Anne's reluctance to make eye contact and moves back.

"Carol-Anne, honey," Paula goes to tilt her chin upwards again, "Sarah's speaking to you…why don't you look up, honey. It's only good manners."

Carol-Anne obeys her with little manipulation from Paula.

In the millisecond that her eyes connect with mine, I can see so many familiar emotions in her watery dark eyes; fear, shame, suppressed anger, embarrassment, self-loathing. It takes my breath away.

Just as quickly, her eyes dart away and her chin tilts down slightly in self-consciousness. She doesn't turn her face away though, and I can still see her eyes that gaze away at the window, now brimming with tears. I can see how hard this is for her.

"This isn't fair," she whispers softly, her voice barely audible.

I take her hand gently in mine as I see the tears spill from her eyes.

"Oh, Carol-Anne, sweetie," I begin but trail off, knowing nothing can say will really console this devastated child.

"I don't deserve this," she continues, still hushed, "How could this happen?"

Then, like a dam has broken lose, every taut muscle in her little body gives and she breaks down.

I can do nothing but pull her into my arms, unsure of what I can possibly say to make this child's life better. I can't possibly make her mother well, make Carol-Anne miss her any less, take these bruises and cuts from her beautiful, innocent face. What could I possibly say to make even one iota of difference in her life? I think back to my own lonely childhood and can only point out one difference between her situation and mine; one that might make that bit of difference, something for her to hold onto;

"I know, honey," I console her as she sobs in my arms, "I know."

She's not alone in this situation. Sometimes a bit of compassion makes all of the difference. I remember what it is like and I can only hope that she will trust me enough to let me help her through it.

The End.


End file.
